“Well, that’s all right,” grinned Brick. “Nobody’s blamin’ you for it, Meecham.” Brick turned and went back toward the saloon, as though dismissing the subject. Meecham talked with Leach and Grant for a few minutes before mounting his horse and going back toward Silverton. Harp got their two horses and took them to the livery-stable. In a few minutes he came back, carrying the two rifles, and found Brick talking with Cale Wesson. “You fellers come down to my house,” suggested Cale. “We’ve got plenty of room. You ain’t got no office, jail nor stable, Brick; so yuh might as well hive up at my place until yuh get somethin’ built.” “By golly, that would be fine,” agreed Harp joyfully. Brick and Cale exchanged amused glances and Cale drawled slowly: “I’d rather have the music inside my house at a reasonable hour than to have it outside at four o’clock in the mornin’. Ma kinda likes music, too. Of course, Miss Miller won’t mind. Anyway, she’s too danged much of a lady to say what she thinks.” “All right, Cale,” grinned Brick. “It would be mighty nice if yuh could take care of us for a few days.” “Sure would,” nodded Harp, and without further argument he headed for the Wesson home, carrying the two useless rifles. Leach, Slim Hunter and Ike Welden went to the hitch-rack, mounted their horses, and rode out of town toward Silverton. They nodded to Cale and Brick as they rode past. Santel came in from the other end of town and left his horse at the hitch-rack. He had not been there during the fire, and now he came over and considered the wreckage. His examination was very brief and he came past Brick and Cale, on his way to the Dollar Down. He nodded curtly and Brick felt instinctively that Santel had been drinking. His eyes were bloodshot and he walked rather too deliberately, as though trying to show that he was perfectly sober. He met Bill Grant in the doorway, and, after a moment of conversation, they both went into the saloon. “I couldn’t like that Santel,” observed Wesson. “I ain’t got a darned thing against him, yuh understand, but there’s somethin’ so dog-goned cold-blooded about him that it kinda gits me.” “He’s salty,” grinned Brick. “He’s also drunk right now, Cale. Let’s go down and help Harp arrange them two rifles. That’s all we’ve got left to move.” “Yo’re lucky. I lost danged near everythin’ I owned. But Ma says we’re kinda lucky, and I s’pose that’s a good way to look at things. We’ll go down and see if she’s got anythin’ to cook for a meal.” Mrs. Wesson gave Brick and Harp an upstairs room, where they decided to grab a few hours’ sleep. Both of them were weary, and the peacefulness of the Wesson home sent them quickly into dreamland. Mrs. Wesson woke them up at supper-time and they came down to the outdoor wash-bench to clean up a little. “Bill Grant has been over twice to see yuh,” stated Mrs. Wesson. “Tha’sso?” Brick lifted his wet face from the basin and blinked the soap out of his eyes. “What’d Bill want?”